‘What’s that smell?’, I asked.

Alex*, my sexual conquest for the night, looked incredibly embarrassed – as I’d known he would.

But lying on his bed, with him on top of me, I just couldn’t take it anymore.

‘Do you need to use the bathroom?’, I asked next, as if I didn’t know – but I did.

I was polite and considerate – this wasn’t an easy topic to approach. But there was evidently something wrong, because he had been releasing the most pungent smells all night.

And I had reached my limit – bemused that he expected me to have sex with him despite the lingering stench.

The start of my night hadn’t looked anything like this.

That night, I’d gone for a meal with a group of my university friends; one of whom was Alex, who I wasn’t that close to. I never saw him and we didn’t have much in common.

But I’d always thought he was incredibly attractive. His chiseled jaw and strong arms were captivating and he had the kind of hair that flopped over his eyes like he was in a boyband.

He never gave me any impression that he was interested in me, though, so I simply adored him from afar – until this dinner with our friends in Soho.

As eight of us sat around a large table, the drinks flowed. I sat between Alex and a good friend, Cassandra*. I started off catching up with her, but after around an hour, I was getting tipsy and Alex was looking especially delicious.

So I turned around and started talking to him.

He told me he’d got a job at an architecture firm and had just moved into a new place down the road.

As he was talking, I noticed a slight smell around us. I didn’t really think anything of it, assuming there was possibly a strange smelling fish on one table.

So I continued flirting.

I smiled at everything he said, and occasionally brushed his arm. At first, he wasn’t flirting back, until the second, more forceful ‘arm brush’, when he finally got the message and my smile was finally returned.

Every so often, I would move my leg to push against his. Not much, just enough for him to blush.

Another hour into the night, the smell had persisted. It would leave and then occasionally return – stronger and more powerful.

At one point Cassandra piped up. ‘Can you smell that?’, she asked the table, and got a mix of nods and shrugs in return.

Alex responded loudly. ‘No, what smell?’

‘That very strong one’, I said, half-laughing, half-puzzled – but he simply shrugged. At one point he went to the toilet and I quickly followed. This was my chance to get him alone and steal a kiss without anyone seeing.

I pulled him aside by the restaurant kitchen and snogged him. At first he was surprised, but quickly melted into the kiss. We made out for a few minutes, until the chef calmly told us to ‘go sit down’.

We giggled and walked back to our table. Crucially, neither of us went to the bathroom.

For the rest of the night, the smell permeated our soirée, until I believe, we all became numb to it. Another three bottles of wine also helped.

Under the table, mine and Alex’s hands kept finding each other. Sometimes, his hand found my thigh. I got the message – we were going home together.

As we said goodbye to everyone, tipsy and giggling, we pulled away and walked off together, arm-in-arm.

But as we got back to Alex’s flat, I couldn’t escape the smell anymore. Maybe the cold air walk woke me up, or maybe it got even worse.

I realised the common denominator. After ruling myself out in a drunken haze of wondering if I had defecated myself – I understood it was him.

Meet Sydney Summers

Hi besties,

As Metro’s brand spanking new sex columnist, I’m here to bring you stories from my sensual past. I’ve gone through it all – from toe sucking to raunchy injuries – and I’m here to share it all with YOU.

Leave any shame you feel in the past and join me in some saucy fun x

Read more by Sydney Summers:

I had a steamy Mother’s Day tryst with my boyfriend’s mum

I was having great sex – the only problem was his Jack Black kink

We were getting hot and heavy – then I saw the state of his boxers

Amidst the swilling wine in my brain came the eureka moment: Alex was farting. It was bad. And he surely desperately needed to poop.

I didn’t know what to do, or how to approach the subject. If I had been making horrible smells, I would have been mortified if the person I was making out with had pointed it out.

But then again, I wouldn’t be making out with someone if I was producing such odours.

It felt a bit like he thought he could get away with it, which felt absurd. I deserved fart-free sex.

So, as he lay on top of me on his bed, I brought it up.

He stared at me, humiliated. He went bright red, laughed nervously, looked like he was going to cry – and, finally, quietly left the room.

I sat on his bed and tried gently calling after him; but I couldn’t help feeling relieved that the smell was no longer attacking my senses.

I waited for 10 minutes, then half an hour – and before falling asleep. A couple of hours later, in a hungover wine daze, I woke up alone in his room. I stumbled out to look for him, and found him asleep on the sofa.

A waft of a nuclear bouquet, like a pot pourri of ass, met my nose, as I watched him soundly sleep.

Confused, I tiptoed out of the room, gathered my belongings, and quietly left his flat.

I couldn’t understand what had happened, but I was glad to be out of there.

Cassandra had texted me: ‘Are you with Alex? ;)’ and I just told her we made out and I went home.

He may have been expelling demons, but I didn’t want to shame him – he was my friend, after all.

We didn’t really speak after that, and we never saw each other at uni gatherings – due to our schedules more than anything, but it was a relief. After his reaction that night, I don’t think it was a conversation he could handle.

I just wish I hadn’t stopped him on his way to the restaurant bathroom that night – and that he had thought more of me than as someone to have sex when he evidently just needed to take a s***.

*Names have been changed

Originally published February 6, 2026 

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing Ross.Mccafferty@metro.co.uk. 

Share your views in the comments below.

‘What’s that smell?’, I asked.

Alex*, my sexual conquest for the night, looked incredibly embarrassed – as I’d known he would.

But lying on his bed, with him on top of me, I just couldn’t take it anymore.

‘Do you need to use the bathroom?’, I asked next, as if I didn’t know – but I did.

I was polite and considerate – this wasn’t an easy topic to approach. But there was evidently something wrong, because he had been releasing the most pungent smells all night.

And I had reached my limit – bemused that he expected me to have sex with him despite the lingering stench.

The start of my night hadn’t looked anything like this.

That night, I’d gone for a meal with a group of my university friends; one of whom was Alex, who I wasn’t that close to. I never saw him and we didn’t have much in common.

But I’d always thought he was incredibly attractive. His chiseled jaw and strong arms were captivating and he had the kind of hair that flopped over his eyes like he was in a boyband.

He never gave me any impression that he was interested in me, though, so I simply adored him from afar – until this dinner with our friends in Soho.

As eight of us sat around a large table, the drinks flowed. I sat between Alex and a good friend, Cassandra*. I started off catching up with her, but after around an hour, I was getting tipsy and Alex was looking especially delicious.

So I turned around and started talking to him.

He told me he’d got a job at an architecture firm and had just moved into a new place down the road.

As he was talking, I noticed a slight smell around us. I didn’t really think anything of it, assuming there was possibly a strange smelling fish on one table.

So I continued flirting.

I smiled at everything he said, and occasionally brushed his arm. At first, he wasn’t flirting back, until the second, more forceful ‘arm brush’, when he finally got the message and my smile was finally returned.

Every so often, I would move my leg to push against his. Not much, just enough for him to blush.

Another hour into the night, the smell had persisted. It would leave and then occasionally return – stronger and more powerful.

At one point Cassandra piped up. ‘Can you smell that?’, she asked the table, and got a mix of nods and shrugs in return.

Alex responded loudly. ‘No, what smell?’

‘That very strong one’, I said, half-laughing, half-puzzled – but he simply shrugged. At one point he went to the toilet and I quickly followed. This was my chance to get him alone and steal a kiss without anyone seeing.

I pulled him aside by the restaurant kitchen and snogged him. At first he was surprised, but quickly melted into the kiss. We made out for a few minutes, until the chef calmly told us to ‘go sit down’.

We giggled and walked back to our table. Crucially, neither of us went to the bathroom.

For the rest of the night, the smell permeated our soirée, until I believe, we all became numb to it. Another three bottles of wine also helped.

Under the table, mine and Alex’s hands kept finding each other. Sometimes, his hand found my thigh. I got the message – we were going home together.

As we said goodbye to everyone, tipsy and giggling, we pulled away and walked off together, arm-in-arm.

But as we got back to Alex’s flat, I couldn’t escape the smell anymore. Maybe the cold air walk woke me up, or maybe it got even worse.

I realised the common denominator. After ruling myself out in a drunken haze of wondering if I had defecated myself – I understood it was him.

Meet Sydney Summers

Hi besties,

As Metro’s brand spanking new sex columnist, I’m here to bring you stories from my sensual past. I’ve gone through it all – from toe sucking to raunchy injuries – and I’m here to share it all with YOU.

Leave any shame you feel in the past and join me in some saucy fun x

Amidst the swilling wine in my brain came the eureka moment: Alex was farting. It was bad. And he surely desperately needed to poop.

I didn’t know what to do, or how to approach the subject. If I had been making horrible smells, I would have been mortified if the person I was making out with had pointed it out.

But then again, I wouldn’t be making out with someone if I was producing such odours.

It felt a bit like he thought he could get away with it, which felt absurd. I deserved fart-free sex.

So, as he lay on top of me on his bed, I brought it up.

He stared at me, humiliated. He went bright red, laughed nervously, looked like he was going to cry – and, finally, quietly left the room.

I sat on his bed and tried gently calling after him; but I couldn’t help feeling relieved that the smell was no longer attacking my senses.

I waited for 10 minutes, then half an hour – and before falling asleep. A couple of hours later, in a hungover wine daze, I woke up alone in his room. I stumbled out to look for him, and found him asleep on the sofa.

A waft of a nuclear bouquet, like a pot pourri of ass, met my nose, as I watched him soundly sleep.

Confused, I tiptoed out of the room, gathered my belongings, and quietly left his flat.

I couldn’t understand what had happened, but I was glad to be out of there.

Cassandra had texted me: ‘Are you with Alex? ;)’ and I just told her we made out and I went home.

He may have been expelling demons, but I didn’t want to shame him – he was my friend, after all.

We didn’t really speak after that, and we never saw each other at uni gatherings – due to our schedules more than anything, but it was a relief. After his reaction that night, I don’t think it was a conversation he could handle.

I just wish I hadn’t stopped him on his way to the restaurant bathroom that night – and that he had thought more of me than as someone to have sex when he evidently just needed to take a s***.

*Names have been changed

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing Ross.Mccafferty@metro.co.uk. 

Share your views in the comments below.